


Cookie Dough

by leere



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Van Days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 09:42:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4782740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leere/pseuds/leere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I could do this for hours. You kinda taste like cookie dough."</p><p>"I haven't showered in eight days," Patrick said, muffled around his own hand. His pupils were blown, hair wet and dark against his sweaty forehead. "You're gross, man."</p><p>Pete hummed, and Patrick's hips jerked. "Well, you must wipe your ass with cookie-flavored toilet paper or some shit, because, seriously, cookie dough."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cookie Dough

**Author's Note:**

> The P/P tag has been lacking lately, at least in quality bottom!Patrick smut (step it up, you guys!), so here's some porn, because none of my other fics are really coming along. I asked my tumblr followers for ideas - someone said rimming, someone else said van days. I mashed the two. Also, I tried to write in past tense, because I haven't written past tense much lately, so if I slipped into present tense at any point, oopsie.

Pete pressed open mouth kisses to the insides of Patrick's thighs, occasionally biting at the pale skin as Patrick gasped above him and twisted a hand in his hair until it hurt. 

"Pete," he whispered harshly, licking his lips, swallowing hard, "Pete, if you tease, I swear-"

"Impatient tonight, baby?" Pete grinned, his voice low, pressing Patrick further back into the guitar case he was pushed against. Sometimes he forgot Patrick was just a kid, barely seventeen years old. He _always_ was impatient, always desperate for a chance to get off. That's just how teenage boys were. Pete had a little more self-control at twenty-one, but he loved that Patrick didn't, loved that he could whisper filth in Patrick's ear all day long and by the time they were alone, Patrick would be hard and begging, thighs spread for Pete as soon as he was on the hotel bed. 

"Please stop teasing," Patrick said, his eyebrows crushed together even though his eyes stayed dark with lust as he stared at where Pete had a loose hand wrapped around his dick. "Please, Pete."

"Mm," Pete hummed, leaning in to breathe on the head of Patrick's dick, grinning smugly when his hips bucked. "But baby - when I tease, you beg, and I fucking love it when you beg."

Patrick squirmed, eyes darting nervously towards the front of the van even though Andy and Joe couldn't possibly be able to see passed the back seats. They were busy anyway, arguing about something stupid - the radio, Pete could tell by the way the speakers were playing Anthrax one minute and Morrisey the next. 

He focused back on Patrick, at the hand he had around his cock, at the way Patrick was breathing hard even though Pete had barely touched him - at the way Patrick's thighs tensed up when Pete bent down to suck the head of his cock into his mouth, hand working the base slowly. Patrick's head fell back, and when Pete looked up, he could see his pale, pale neck, the line of his jaw. There was a faint hickey still there from the night before's shenanigans in the bathroom of some crappy bar, and Pete wanted to lick at it, suck at it until it was as red as it was the other day. He wondered if he could do that, if he could mark the same spot over and over again. It could be his permanent mark on Patrick, his brand, his way of saying, "This is mine, don't touch". Patrick would probably get annoyed if he did it enough times, Pete mused as he bobbed his head, but it wasn't like he was asking him to get Pete's name tattooed on his ass or something. Though Pete kind of liked the idea of that - liked the idea that if anyone got near Patrick, they'd see it: **Property of Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III - keep your filthy fucking hands off of my Patrick.** He figured he should try to write that in sharpie sometime, just to see what Patrick would do.

"Stop thinking," Patrick said suddenly, and Pete looked up at him, raising an eyebrow, Patrick's dick still in his mouth.

He pulled off and wiped at the spit dribbling down his chin with his hoodie sleeve. "What are you talking about?"

"Everything okay back there?" Andy suddenly called from the front.

"Yes," Patrick told him loudly, and then his voice lowered when he looked back at Pete, who was lying between his plush thighs, idly tapping one with his fingers to the beat of a song they'd been working on. "You're thinking about other shit, I can tell by the way you're, like, staring at the seat and zoning out and tapping my leg and not sucking my dick. Come on, dude."

"Boring," Pete said.

"Huh?"

"B-O-R-I-N-G," Pete spelt out, and Patrick frowned at him. "Let's try something different."

When Pete pushed Patrick's legs up and nipped at his ass, Patrick jolted and nearly yelped.

"What the hell is going on back there?" Pete thought he heard Andy say, but he was too focused on Patrick, who's chest was heaving already, his eyes slits as he stared down at Pete.

"Can I?" Pete asked, making an 'o' shape with his fingers and sticking his tongue through it.

"That's fucking gross," Patrick said, but he spread his legs anyway, the little slut - Pete's little slut, he loved him so much - and tilted his hips up anyway. He was wedged between the seat and a guitar case, which couldn't possibly be comfortable, and Pete was being crowded by an amp, but he was horny and Patrick was his amazing boyfriend who never told him no when he wanted to bone, so there they were.

Pete leaned in and bit at Patrick's ass again, then moved to suck a mark onto the skin. _Hickeys are great_ , he thought. A temporary tramp stamp. Property of Pete Wentz. And so fucking dark again Patrick's alabaster skin. _God, I really do think too much. ___

When he finally pressed his tongue to Patrick's hole, Patrick inhaled sharply, staring down at Pete through his lashes, his plump lips parted. They'd never done this before, and it was kind of gross if Pete thought about it, but he wasn't going to let himself. He wasn't going to think at all for once, and if he did, he'd think about getting Patrick off, nothing else. He actually kind of wanted to try and make him come without touching his dick. He'd seen it in pornos, and he was good at eating girls out - an ass couldn't be much different, and Patrick was pretty fucking easy anyway.

So he went to work, spreading Patrick open and diving in until Patrick was squirming and whining, biting down hard on his knuckles, his other hand pulling at his own hair. His hat had fallen off a while ago, and his right hand was currently tugging at his hair, fisted in the strands. Pete faintly wondered if he had a thing for pain. He dug his nails into Patrick's hips, took note of the way he groaned, and stored that information away for later. Then he pulled back and licked a long line up Patrick's cleft. "I could do this for hours. You kinda taste like cookie dough."

"I haven't showered in eight days," Patrick said, muffled around his own hand. His pupils were blown, hair wet and dark against his sweaty forehead. He swallowed hard, and Pete watched his Adam's apple move. He really, really wanted to bite it. "You're gross, man."

Pete hummed, and Patrick's hips jerked. "Well, you must wipe your ass with cookie-flavored toilet paper or some shit, because, seriously, cookie dough." Pete grinned when Patrick crinkled his nose. Then he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked on them until they were wet. He was really hard in his boxers, painfully so, but at that moment, his only concern was Patrick. He pushed a finger into his ass, smirking when Patrick immediately clenched around it and rocked his hips down, and then Pete was trying to work his tongue in alongside it. 

He found pressing against Patrick's prostate and licking at his rim did it for him, got him sweating and trying not to moan and begging, "Come on, come on, fuck, come on", over and over under his breath, desperate and a little delirious. Pete loved that, loved turning him into a wanton mess like he was right then. He briefly considered fucking Patrick, pushing his dick in to the hilt, fucking him through his orgasm and then coming deep in his ass while Joe and Andy stayed oblivious up front - but he kind of liked this. It was different than eating a girl out, not really worse or better, but his tongue made Patrick react similarly to how his past girlfriends had, and Patrick gasping and pushing himself down against Pete's mouth was definitely pretty fucking hot. His nose was pressed to Patrick's balls, which was really weird and somehow weirdly grosser than eating his asshole out was, but Pete found it hard to be grossed out when Patrick was writhing and whimpering like that. 

Patrick reached for his dick, but Pete pushed his hand away and Patrick whined, clenching around the three fingers Pete had up his ass. He was shaking and moaning weakly, right on the edge. He just needed something to shove him over. If he was jerking himself off, he'd have gotten off minutes ago. But instead, Pete pulled his three fingers out and then shoved them back in, angling them so they dragged across Patrick's sweet spot, and he told Patrick, "Right now, Patrick, right now," before he was leaning in to push his tongue into his ass again.

Patrick came hard, fingers pushed into his own mouth. He was silent, but he went stiff and trembled eveywhere, and, fuck, it was so hot watching Patrick's dick spurt like that. Pete did that, did that with just his tongue and his fingers. He couldn't help but feel proud, especially when he pulled his fingers out and kissed one of the marks he'd left, and Patrick just sighed contentedly, spent and well-fucked and satisfied despite the mess on his stomach. Pete pulled his own jeans down to his knees and shoved a hand into his boxers, jerking his hard dick off, staring at where Patrick was still red and wet between his legs. He thought, _I'm fucking him into the mattress as soon as we get to a hotel, fuck,_ and then he was coming, angling his cock so his come hit Patrick's thighs and his ass.

He slumped down on top of Patrick and kissed him messily, and about six seconds passed before Patrick shoved him away, shouting, "Gross, gross, fuck, ew!" 

Pete started cackling, and Andy yelled, "Pete, did you piss in Patrick's bag again? That's fucking disgusting, you know we all hate that, knock it the fuck off!" 

Pete peeked up over the seats, fully aware that he had major sex hair because of Patrick's grabby hands - he really didn't care. "I did not," he said, sticking his bottom lip out. Patrick grabbed his sleeve and tugged him down, and Pete went willingly, giggling, falling down on top of Patrick again, wedged between his bare thighs - which still had Pete's jizz on them. Pete knew they should probably clean up, but he really didn't want to. He just wanted to lay between Patrick's pale thighs all day, and he wanted to doze off using Patrick's squishy stomach as a pillow. 

"I love you," Pete told Patrick quietly, lifting his head, "and I love eating your ass." Patrick blushed at that, opening his mouth, but Pete continued, "but I was lying about the cookie dough. It just tasted like ass. Which, you know, that's cool. Ass is cool. I like ass. I like your ass, you have an amazing ass-" 

"Oh my God, shut up," Patrick said, and he kissed Pete on the cheek, then pulled back and said, "I love you, too, but get yourself some gum or something, for Christ's sake. I'm seriously not kissing you until you do. Fucking booty breath." 

"Booty breath!" Pete crowed, grinning, though he instantly quieted when Patrick hushed him. He smiled and dropped his head down again, face pressed to Patrick's chest. "But I'm _your_ booty breath." 

"Whatever," Patrick said, but he was smiling down at Pete fondly. 

"What the fuck were they doing?" Joe whispered to Andy, twisting in his seat and looking back over the seats, attempting but not succeeding in listening to Pete and Patrick's incessant whispering. 

"Who fucking knows," Andy grumbled, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently. Traffic sucked. Andy hated traffic. 

"Those two are fucking weird," Joe said, shaking his head and smiling. "Like, really fucking weird." 

"Yeah, they are," Andy agreed, trying to look at said weirdos through the rear view mirror. "Kids these days." 

"You sound like a dad," Joe grinned, reaching for the radio. Andy pressed his lips together when he put on Madonna, trying to mentally convince himself that strangling his band's guitarist was a bad idea. But fuck, he _was_ a fucking dad, he really was. Which sucked because he was seriously too young to be raising two teenage idiots and a twenty-one year old man child. 

"Better clean up back there," he called back to Pete and Patrick, who both immediately went silent. "If I find jizz on any of my stuff I'm killing both of you." 

"Shit, he's onto us, 'Trick!" he heard Pete laugh as Patrick cursed and things banged around in the back. 

Joe was frowning, like he had no idea what was going on. "Wait, what?" 

"I'll tell you when you're older," Andy told him, shaking his head and smirking a little when Pete fell over the back seat, his pants only half on. Patrick followed, red-faced and flustered and missing his hat. Andy just chuckled and shook his head while Joe eyed them suspiciously. 

"Joe, man," Pete started, "Joe, Joe, fucking lick Patrick's arm, he tastes like cookie dough, I swear to God--"


End file.
